


To Sing for the Moon

by free_the_muse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Dorothea needs all the hugs, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mercedes gives great hugs, my two gay queens, they're soft, this is basically a fluff fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/free_the_muse/pseuds/free_the_muse
Summary: If Dorothea was like a star--bright and dazzling and kept at a distance, then Mercedes was like the moon--gentle, comforting, and ever-present.Or; Dorothea and Mercedes have a conversation under the guise of night.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	To Sing for the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Soo I was asked to write for these two, and let me just say that this was surprisingly fun to write. Dorothea and Mercedes are like my favorite characters in the game so of course I would eventually end up writing a fic for them lol also sorry if the formatting looks weird, I'm just bad at it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this.

There are times when her life now seems almost dream-like. It’s feels too safe, too pristine, and Dorothea half expects to wake up in a dirty gutter with rat bitten toes and an empty stomach. No matter how clean her skin, how shiny her hair, how kind her friends are—she knows she will always be that filthy little orphaned beggar. Wretched and alone.

It’s on nights like these where she can’t sleep. Her bed feels wrong, suffocating in its warmth. She feels better looking at the stars, without a roof to entrap her.

The night air is cool and crisp as autumn descends over the monastery. Everything is quiet and calm in the late evening. There are no guards, no clergy, no people in sight. There is only the faint whispers of a breeze and the distant chirping of crickets. Dorothea likes it better this way, no one around to bother her. No one to smile for.

The bridge to the cathedral is a nice spot to look out over the moon-painted valley below. Dorothea sits on the edge, legs dangling freely. She hums an old folk song that had been taught to her by a toothless old homeless man on the streets of Enbarr. He had died of the chill the year after. She remembers seeing the city guards hoist his gaunt corpse into a rickety cart for burning with the rest of the deceased street trash. She remembers thinking that’s what they’d do to her when she died.

The song itself had been about a girl lighting candles in the chapel for her lover away at war. Dorothea always liked it when the songs told a story, perhaps that’s also why she loved the opera so much.

“My, is that ‘ _A Candle for My Love_ ’?” a soft voice nearly startles her right of the ledge.

Mercedes stands about a foot away, still dressed in the day’s cloths. Dorothea feels a pang of insecurity being underdressed in a just a nightgown. She hadn’t thought she’d run into anyone this late at night.

Mercedes smiles in that serene way of hers. “May I join you?”

Dorothea nods, not really having the energy to put on a whole show right now. Mercedes sits beside her, close but still giving her proper space.

There’s a brief silence before Dorothea realizes she’d been asked a question before. “I know it’s not opera material, but it is good for simple vocal exercise.”

Mercedes shakes her head quickly. “That song is one my favorites. They used to sing it to the children in the church where I was raised.” She smiles thoughtfully, “I think a song can be beautiful regardless of where it comes from.”

Oh.

Dorothea giggles, because she is too nervous to do anything else. “So long as the singer can carry a tune.” She comments airily. After all, people only ever cared about singing if it sounded pretty.

Mercedes laughs, tender and bright. “Oh, the Father was most definitely tone-deaf!” she beams, “But he loved the song so much, we all couldn’t help but have fun every time he sang it.”

A pang of sadness hits Dorothea square in the chest as she pictures it. A happy home, full of warmth and love and family…

Humming catches her attention then. Mercedes’ voice is soft, much too weak for the opera, but it’s also soothing and gentle like a mother’s lullaby. Dorothea feels comforted enough to hesitantly join in.

Nothing is said for the next while as they overlook the valley, side-by-side, humming along with each other. It has been so long since Dorothea sang accompanied, she secretly hopes Mercedes doesn’t think her voice too overpowering.

“Oh!” Mercedes’ exclamation stops them both, “I can’t seem to remember how the next verse went…”

Dorothea opens her mouth to reply, but a gust of wind cuts her off with its biting chill. She shivers.

“Are you alright? It’s gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it?” Mercedes has already taken off her knitted shawl and is carefully wrapping it around her shoulders. The material is soft, warm, and smells faintly of the frankincense burning in the cathedral. “There.”

Dorothea feels totally and utterly cared for. Her heart aches.

“I’m okay, really, it’s not that cold out yet,” she defends helplessly, unable to look at Mercedes. She feels the urge to give the shawl back, but also to greedily curl up in it like a church mouse in winter. Above all else, she feels pathetic.

“It suits you much better than myself, I think,” Mercedes comments in that airy way she often does, “I was overheated from working in the cathedral anyway. The cool air is quite refreshing.”

Dorothea finally meets her gaze and finds only gentle blue hues staring back at her. There is no judgement, no harshness in those eyes that remind her of the late autumn sky. Again, she feels comforted.

She clears her throat, pulling the shawl a little tighter around herself as another gust of air whips by. “Why were you working so late, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Mercedes smiles, her gaze moving to the valley spanning below them. “I like to tend the altars, replace the old candles, and tell the Goddess about my day. It’s something I’ve done since I was a child and it brings me peace.”

Dorothea wondered if that helped Mercedes the way songs helped her. She suddenly wished she knew more about the older girl who smiled like the gentle moon.

The only things she knew about her came from hearing rumors, and Dorothea knew to invest very little thought into those. But, if word was to be believed, Mercedes was once a noble of the Empire. Something apparently happened which caused her and her mother to run away to live in a church. That alone told Dorothea enough.

Nobles were all pricks who hadn’t a care in the world for the lives they trampled over. Mercedes’ father was probably no different.

“I always wondered how you stayed so calm,” Dorothea muses, half-heartedly teasing, “Now I know it’s because you have a nightly routine. I’m secretly taking notes, you know.” She throws in a wink because she can.

Mercedes puffs out a laugh, and Dorothea feels lighter for it.

“Yes, now you know my secret!” then she sighs, turning wistful, “It can be hard to talk about painful things sometimes, but the Goddess has always listened.”

A bitter part of Dorothea’s heart wanted to comment on how little Goddess actually _did_ for all that She listened. But the last thing she wanted was to hurt Mercedes’ feelings after she’d been so kind to her. The night grew darker for a moment as a cloud passed in front of the moon.

“I know it’s hard to have faith,” Mercedes frowns, solemn and serious, “There’s famine, sickness, death. Terrible things happen to good people, and the wicked run free…”

Dorothea listens, her doubts had finally been voiced aloud. If Mercedes knew all this then why did she still believe so fiercely?

“Ultimately, I think faith is only as powerful as those who believe in it,” the older girl turns to gaze across the valley, “I think the Goddess merely watches over us, silently encouraging us to do good, to help others and make the world a better place for all who live in it. But ultimately, we are the ones who create the change through our actions.”

Dorothea takes a moment to think it all over. Mercedes’s faith was not a crutch to lean on, but a code to live by. She chose to confide in the Goddess while living a life of compassion and care. To her, the Goddess wasn’t some powerful being that would split the sky and smite her enemies, She was an ideal that Mercedes tried her best to honor through action.

Dorothea wondered if the Church of Seiros would find Mercedes blasphemous for such thoughts. _Of course they would._

“I think I like your way better!” Dorothea proclaims, trying to sound like she had ultimate say in the matter. “Sometimes the clergy can be so stuffy and strict.”

Dorothea briefly remembers being shooed away from a chapel at age 10 because her clothes were tattered and covered in dirt. They didn’t want her to muck up the floor.

Mercedes smiles radiantly, eyes twinkling. “Yes, well, if only all churches valued compassion and kindness. I was lucky to be raised in such a place.”

The night grows colder still as the moon reaches its apex, and Dorothea finds herself finally relaxed enough to sleep. She confirms it with a yawn.

Mercedes giggles. “You look ready for some rest. May I walk you to your room?”

Again, Dorothea feels helplessly flattered. She was honestly flabbergasted at how someone could be so caring without any ulterior motivations whatsoever.

“Only if you’ll join me for tea sometime?” the words leave her before she’s aware of them, but Dorothea finds that she would have said them anyway. Mercedes was like the shawl around her shoulders—comforting, warm, and safe. Dorothea wanted to be around her more, maybe payback that kindness somehow.

Blue eyes widen briefly in surprise, catching the moonlight just so. Again, that sweet smile appears. “I would love to! I can even bring sweets.” her face lights up, “Oh, I made some berry tarts the other day that everyone really liked!”

Dorothea stands, shaking off the wobbliness in her legs from sitting for too long. “That sounds positively divine.” In her mind, she’d just made a pun. She chuckled at herself.

Mercedes raised an amused eyebrow, but said nothing as she too rose to her feet.

It was reflex for Dorothea to reach out and hold her hand. This was something she did countless times when walking with suitors or close friends. She briefly recalls a previous night where she ran into Lysithea and had to escort the frightened girl back from the library.

Mercedes had little callouses at the tips of her fingers (did she play an instrument?), but her hands were delicate and slender in her own. Dorothea suddenly became aware of her own hands—faint scars from rat-bites, burn marks from magic that had escaped her control, and odd callouses from training tirelessly with stage props. Dorothea suddenly has the urge to pull away before she somehow tainted the other girls’ hands.

Before she can though, Mercedes laces their fingers together and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Perfect fit!” she claims happily and then starts walking without a care in the world. Dorothea has no choice but to follow, suddenly feeling very warm in the cheeks.

Their linked hands sway slowly between them as they stroll the empty grounds. Dorothea has no idea why her heart suddenly won’t calm down. Mercedes finally breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you agreed to speak with me, I’ve been wanting to get to know you for some time now,” she says, a hint of something in her voice—nerves? “It’s a bit intimidating really, how strong you are.”

Dorothea didn’t feel strong. She felt small, and weak, and fragile.

“You’ve stood alone all this time, never giving up.” Mercedes gives her hand a tender squeeze as she says this, “You’ve had to fight and struggle for everything you’ve had—you’re _amazing_ , Dorothea. You’ve made it so far all by yourself…” she trails off, brow furrowing, “I think you’re stronger than I am.”

Dorothea’s first reaction is to disagree, to reassure her. “I was forced to take a certain path, just as you were.” She takes a moment to consider that, “You are strong too, Mercedes. You have patience and compassion, and I…well, I have survival instincts I suppose.”

Mercedes slowed. “Do you think you are a bad person, Dorothea?”

The words struck her like a lance. Events flashed before her eyes—stealing food from a merchant cart, bathing in a fountain and turning the water brown with dirt, scraping up her palms when a noble shoved her into the gutter because she was in his way.

Dorothea bit her lip, unable to meet those gently inquiring eyes. “Maybe.” She shrugs, feeling vulnerable. “Some people would certainly say so, but they’re probably just jealous.” The last part was meant to sound teasing and light, but it came out much more desperate sounding than Dorothea had intended.

They resumed their normal pace, Mercedes softly humming. Dorothea latched onto the hopeful notes of _A Candle for My Love_ like it was a lifeline in a howling tempest.

Just as she was beginning to relax again, they reached Dorothea’s door. A pang of loneliness strikes her when their hands separate.

“Thank you for letting me join your evening,” Mercedes smiles warmly, “I look forward to talking more over tea.”

Dorothea nods, feeling reluctant to leave. She dreads being alone again. “Oh, your shawl,” she moves to take it off to return it, but a hand stops her.

“I’ll make another one,” Mercedes tells her, “This one looks better on you.”

“Oh.” Dorothea feels unprepared. She has no gift to offer in return. Maybe one day she’ll find something equal in value to the kindness she’s been shown tonight.

Then Mercedes is moving towards her. Slowly, so as to give Dorothea time to move away if she wished, she wraps her arms around her and gently pulls her into a hug.

Oh.

She’s so soft and warm and smells just like her shawl—frankincense. Mercedes holds her in a way that Dorothea can’t remember ever being held before. She feels…safe, sheltered, like Mercedes is shielding her from all the bad in the world. She feels so _full_ for the first time in such a long time, that tears spring unbidden to her eyes.

Dorothea can feel herself shaking as she carefully brings her arms up to return the embrace. She hopes she’s doing it correctly.

Mercedes pulls her closer when Dorothea has to sniffle to shove back her tears.

“You are loved, Dorothea,” tender words are murmured into her hair, into her heart, “You are important and precious and loved.”

Mercedes pulls away slowly, and Dorothea misses her already. But there’s also something else, left behind. She feels a little bit less empty than before, a little less alone.

“Goodnight, Mercedes.”

“Sweet dreams, Dorothea.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: And there you have it! Honestly I wouldn't mind continuing this into a multi-chapter fic but I want to know what you all think?
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading!


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